


A Chance to Transform

by Aylwyyn228



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, But he's into tough love, Carl Manfred & Markus Parent-Child Relationship, Carl is a sci fi fan, Depression, Gen, Pre-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Soft Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Carl thought perhaps, for a moment, that he was wrong. Perhaps he was just old, and bored, and desperate to see one more miracle before he died.
Relationships: Carl Manfred & Markus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	A Chance to Transform

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, friends! This isn't part of Don't Put Down Your Guns Yet, but it also doesn't contradict anything in that series. 
> 
> If you are waiting for the finale of DPDYGY, then I am about 7000 words into it, because plot is hard XD
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Carl woke in a black mood. That was not unusual, he was a connoisseur of depressive episodes, but given that he had spent the months since the accident in a state of abject numbness, this one took him somewhat by surprise.

He was awake well before the sun.

Once upon a time, he would have taken the extra hours in day with gusto, walking out to take in the sunrise over the river, or taking to his studio early, brimming with inspiration.

He was overwhelmed with a burning rage that now he could do neither, overwhelmed again with the realisation that he didn't want to do either.

He had nothing left to say to the sun.

He wanted nothing to do with the world, and nothing to do with himself, so he rolled over and mired himself in self pity.

As it was, he heard the android start moving around, doing whatever he did when he was alone. He hated the idea of having someone in the house.

It had been over a month now, and he hated it. He had always hated it.

He had agreed only because it was better than a succession of overly cheery nurses. At least an android didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

But he still wanted to be left alone.

He wanted his house back, and his life back.

He wanted the last thirty years back.

By the time he heard Markus on the stairs, he had worked himself up into impotent fury.

The door opened.

“Good morning, Carl.”

Of course, Markus would know he was awake.

He huffed under his breath because he didn’t have anything to say.

The android reached the curtains, and let in all that awful terrible fucking morning.

“No.”

He heard the footsteps stop. “Carl?”

“Close those and go.”

There was a pause. “It’s eight AM.”

“I said go.”

The pause extended a little, and then the room was plunged back into orange gloom and the android’s footsteps retreated.

Good. Perhaps if he laid alone for long enough, he would bore himself to death.

***

Carl thought he might have dozed. Empty, dreamless, pointless sleep.

In any case, he woke to Markus’s hand on his shoulder. “Carl, it’s nearly midday.”

He turned away, like a petulant child. “I don’t care.”

“I think you should get up.”

He put a hand over his face. “Fuck off, Markus.”

He heard a pause and then Markus shuffling more things over to the side, opening cupboards and the dresser.

Carl sighed heavily and leaned up on his elbows. “I thought I gave you an order.”

Markus was bent over the dresser, rifling through various clothes. He didn’t look around. “You did.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I’m programmed to take care of you.”

Something inside Carl snapped. “I don’t need taking care of. I’m not a fucking child!”

Markus did look around now. Something apologetic in his face, and Carl couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being coddled with fake pity from a fake man.

He felt the android’s eyes scan over him. Calculating the probabilities of success instead of just responding.

He couldn’t stand it.

“To assist you then.” Markus said, and after a beat of silence. “What would you like to wear today?”

“Fuck off, Markus!”

Carl snatched the glass off the side and hurled it against the wall. He hadn’t been aiming for Markus, but his aim was a little wild, and it hit closer than he’d intended it to.

Markus’s hand had shot up, a little too late, an aborted movement to catch or to block the spray of shards. He half turned, his eyes following the water, dripping behind the dresser, and the shards of crystal glittering across the wooden floor.

When he turned back, a flicker of something a little like betrayal was still clinging to his features.

And then it passed, as if Carl had imagined it, and perhaps he had imagined it. Too busy looking for something to drown out the ennui.

A drowning man throwing himself at a miracle.

Markus just deposited the shirt he was holding back in the drawer.

“Of course, Carl. I’ll just clear this up.”

He stooped to brush the shards of crystal into his palm. Bullied, cowed, and kneeling to an unreasonable master.

Carl hated himself. And he hated Markus. And he hated this fucking room!

“Oh, just get outta here!”

He snatched the stopper out of the glass’s matching crystal decanter and threw that as well. That didn’t smash, but cracked the plaster like a bullet and disappeared behind the dresser.

Markus stood up, his eyes downcast. “Yes, Carl.”

He kept his eyes on the floor as he left. A beat servant fleeing the room.

Carl wanted half wanted to throw the whole decanter after him, but he didn’t.

It wouldn’t be him who’d have to clean it up, after all.

***

When he woke again, his lungs felt tight, wheezy when he breathed. He turned over and tried to ignore it. It was his own fault, and his own fault he didn’t have water to soothe it.

He forced his coughs down into his throat. Didn’t need to see Markus’s sanctimonious reaction.

He should have known it was pointless. What could he keep from an android?

He was still coughing into his hand when the door opened. The steps that crossed the room were purposeful, and the curtains flew open and bathed the room in evening light.

“You’re getting up, Carl.”

“Get out of my fucking house.”

He heard Markus come to the side of the bed. “You have fluid on your lungs. You need to sit up. So come on.”

He felt Markus’s hands on his shoulder. “Get off me!”

He finally met Markus’s eyes, as Markus halted dead still. Markus was scanning over his face. His jaw was set tight. “Are you going to hit me?”

Carl felt himself bristle. “Of course not.”

“Good.”

And with that, he scooped him up, and dropped him gently into his chair.

Carl scowled at him. “Why are you still here?”

"I'm programmed to assist you."

"Well, I don't want your assistance, so why don't you go back to Kamski and tell him that."

Markus just looked at him.

Carl was very, very aware he was being unreasonable. He also didn't care.

Markus grabbed the phone off the bedside table. "You want me to leave? If you call someone else, I’ll leave.“

Carl scoffed. “Who would I call?”

He’d burnt enough bridges with family and friends, even before the accident.

“How about your cousin?”

Carl frowned. “Jennifer?”

Jennifer was the loudest, most infuriating woman Carl had ever met. She was a foghorn on legs.

He would never have a moment’s peace.

Markus looked at him very innocently. Too innocently. “I can place the call if you’d like.”

“You wouldn’t.”

The light on Markus's temple flickered yellow and he blinked.

Carl heard the line click on. Could already hear Jennifer’s thick Jersey drawl down the line. He held a hand up. “Alright. You win.”

Markus smiled, and in a completely different voice said “Sorry, wrong number, ma’am.”

"That was low, Markus."

Markus didn't respond, instead he just smiled brightly. "Would you like to go downstairs, Carl?"

"I thought I didn't have a choice."

"Carl," Markus said in a tone that was almost a warning.

Carl sighed, dramatically, despite the fact that now he was up, going downstairs didn't feel like quite the trial it had that morning. "Fine."

He felt Markus step up behind him, and as they passed the end of the bed, he could hear the crackle of crushed crystal beneath Markus's feet and the wheels of his chair.

"You have terrible aim."

A guilty thing curled up in Carl's gut. "I wasn't trying to hit you."

"I know, that's why you have terrible aim."

Carl tried to twist round to look at him. "Did I hurt you?"

"You can't hurt me."

They reached the stairs, and Carl felt the click of the mechanical arm as it attached to the back of his chair. "Did I harm you then?"

"Technically speaking…"

"Look, I'm not going to argue semantics with a walking dictionary." As Markus crossed by him on the stairs, Carl thought he saw a faint smile across Markus's face. "You know what I'm asking."

"I'm fine."

At the base of the staircase, the arm detached again. Carl caught Markus’s elbow as he passed behind him again. "Are you?"

Markus was looking down at him, unnaturally still.

For a moment, less than a heartbeat, Carl felt a flicker of… not fear. It was nothing close to fear. Awe, was closer, but awe wasn't solid enough. Awe was for cathedrals, and operas and lightning storms.

This was how he imagined it would feel to come face to face with a tiger.

He suddenly and completely understood how vulnerable he was, with this person shaped thing in his house. He was old, older than he'd ever really considered before. The years crept up, and suddenly he'd become his grandfather, sitting frail in his chair.

This android would only need to raise his hand...

But it wasn't fear.

It was respect, perhaps… for the ingenuity of mankind. He had read the Bicentennial Man when he was fourteen years old, entranced, and here they were, in Asimov’s dreamt of future.

Perhaps there weren’t words for the feeling. Perhaps once he’d have been desperate to capture it on canvas.

Now though he was just content to live it, for a moment, and it was a moment. The instant passed, and Markus was just repeating, "I'm fine, Carl. Would you like something to eat?"

Of course, because these tigers didn't know that they were tigers. They believed the ringmaster and his whip.

Because Markus had ignored him. Ignored him often if Carl was truthful with himself.

Why?

Because Elijah Kamski was a genius? Because he knew how to programme a machine which could withstand a belligerent old man?

Because the sarcastic servant was a trope as old as literature?

Or…

"No," Carl said slowly, "I think I'd like some music."

"Of course, Carl."

Markus started to steer them into the back room.

"What would you like, Markus?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What would you like?"

Markus stopped, with his hand hovering over the music player. "I'm not programmed to like anything."

"But you understand the concept?"

"Erm."

"You asked me what I would like, so you understand the concept?"

Markus was still hovering, he hadn't moved an inch.

Carl thought perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he was just old, and bored, and desperate to see one more miracle before he died.

Then Markus flicked the music player on and low unmemorable jazz filled the room like a layer of mustard gas.

"I would like," Markus said slowly, already moving back behind him. So, Carl realised suddenly, so suddenly that he couldn’t believe that he had missed it for so long, so Carl couldn't see his face. "I would like you not to throw glass for me to sweep up."

It was said lightly, like it was a joke, like any number of preprogrammed rejoinders before.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't.

Carl had that flicker of feeling again. Not awe. Not fear. Not. Not. Not...

Because he was numb and empty and old, but he might have his miracle after all.


End file.
